Friends Make Each Other Better
by whovianmaniac
Summary: John and Sherlock are both foxes. (AU fic, obviously) Enjoy. FOXLOCK! :D


**Author's Note:**

**Just know that this Foxlock (jeez I keep writing that as "Foxlox" XD) was written at around midnight last night and I was a bit high off of tiredness so... yeah. Any tips would be great.**

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The wind is bitingly cold as John tries to find a shelter for the night. He is freezing to the bone, even with his creamy warm coat protecting him from the billowing snow. His fur stands on end, sticking up fluffily in attempt to keep him warm, but it's no use. Even his already bushy foxtail is puffed up in the frigid temperature. He has to find someplace to shelter, or he'll be frostbitten within the hour. John knows that, and so he frantically looks for a suitable spot, preferably covered on at least three sides.

Finally, John sees a small cave dug into the side of a cliff that slopes into a riverbank. It's good enough, and it's sheltered from the howling wind. This storm is quickly turning into a full on blizzard. John hurries down the steep rock face until he reaches about halfway down, the level of the cave, and nearly falls off when a bit of the ledge breaks off, and his legs, black-furred three quarters up, tremble with exhaustion. It's been so long since he's rested, so it's a huge relief for John to slide unsteadily into the dark, tiny little cave and fall down onto the sandstone floor. He has barely enough strength to pull himself along the ground and curl up into a ball against the wall. John is asleep in seconds, happy to finally be out of the icy wind.

Some time in the night, John senses without opening his deep brown eyes that a presence nestles beside him, a cold but soft-furred body with a warm, beating heart settling down to press itself into his flank. Normally, John would be alarmed at the unfamiliar fox scent and attack, but tonight he is too tired, and too grateful for the body heat, to care.

In the morning, John wakes to see a bundle of fluffy black fur curled at his side. An odd strip of dusky-blue colored fabric is tied neatly around the new fox's neck, and John pokes at it curiously with his wet brown nose. It's soft to the touch, and, intrigued, the pale fox rubs against it harder, delighting in the smooth feel of it against his muzzle. Then the newcomer wakes up, and turns his angular head in John's directions, icy blue eyes surprised. John recoils, and backs away, embarrassed.

New Fox twitches his whiskers in amusement and flicks his tail, standing up. John is forgiven. Good.

John cocks his head and sniffs at the fabric again, tentatively. New Fox paws at it a bit and then shivers, and tightens it again with his teeth.

Oh. So it keeps him warm!

John nods. He understands.

New Fox looks a bit confused. He backs away slightly. (You're not going to attack me?)

John flicks his ears forward. (No. You're accepted.)

New Fox steps forward again, surprised. (Oh. Can I stay?)

John steps closer as well. (Yes.) Then he sniffs the air, one paw raised a bit. He looks outside, and shivers. (Cold, hungry.)

New Fox nods. (Yes.) Then he stretches his head around to look out as well. (Go? [Hunt, travel])

John flicks his ears again. (Yes.)

John's ears perk up and his tail wags slightly in the fox equivalent of a smile.

New Fox turns around and trots to the opening of the little cave, and then, with John at his heels, slips down the remaining few feet of the slope, and goes to the edge of the river. It has snowed dramatically overnight, with drifts over five feet high, but the blizzard is thankfully over. The two foxes pad over the thick layer with feather-light feet, and jump from rock to rock until they reach the opposite end of the icy water. At the very end, John slips on a bit of ice and tumbles into the treacherous rapids, filled with bits of rock and ice and dirt.

He can't think.

_struggling endlessly churning water_

_tumbling_

_twisting_

_spinning_

_dizzy_

_underwater too much water so much water so dark can't see closed eyes heavy wet fur can't breath no air bubbles ice cold cold cold_

_cold_

_cold_

_cold_

_ICE_

_freezing_

_can't feel no feelings_

_gone_

_black_

_no light_

_heart stuttering_

_flailing_

_numb_

_numb_

_numb blood stopping_

_lungs burning_

_fast flowing_

_light_

_there's light_

_teeth_

_warmth?_

_Too much light_

_rough ground_

_dragging_

_AIR_

_BREATHING_

John finally opens his eyes. New Fox is standing over him, traces of creamy fur along his muzzle. His black fur is wet and it looks like he is shivering.

John feels so stiff, so cold, and his fur is soaked through to the bone, and he is shuddering uncontrollably, but the weak winter sunlight feels so good on his flank as he lies, panting on his side. When he doesn't stop coughing and panting after a few moments, Sherlock starts to lick him all over, making his fur stick up in every direction. He is very thorough, because at the very end, John is feeling a lot warmer and has stopped choking up river water. He tries to pull himself up, but only manages in flopping back down again a few feet farther from the river. _At least we crossed the river, _John thinks to himself bitterly.

He is so tired, so tired. Even after a few hours of sleep the night before, the struggle in the river had wiped John out entirely. He manages to drag himself to the edge of the riverbank where there is a little alcove, and curls up against the grassy hillside, where it had been protected from the snow. John's eyes are already closed when he feels New Fox squeezing in behind him and lying his head over John's neck, like a - what was it… - like a scarf.

"John." John murmurs quietly.

"Your name?" New Fox inquires, his head still resting upon John.

"Yes. You?"

"Sherlock."

Before he falls asleep, John manages to speak two more words.

"Thank you."

He can feel Sherlock's words vibrating on his neck. "For what?"

"Staying. Saving me. Being my friend."

"I don't have friends."

"You do now." Then John sleeps, with a smile on his muzzle. That's new. Foxes, he knows, don't make that expression. He doesn't know how he even knows what a smile is, only that it perfectly expresses his feelings, with Sherlock curled around him and warmth slowly seeping through his worn out body.

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**End note:**

**Originally, I had the two of them have an actual conversation in the beginning, but I decided to make their speaking more gradual, like they make each other better, and somehow being together helps them understand each other. You know?**

**Reviews? Pretty please? I'll draw you a pretty picture and post it on Pinterest! (tigresswild or Emma S.)**


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